XCOM: Splinter
by TheRyderShotgun
Summary: The story of a former crime boss turned resistance splinter leader as he continues his ongoing fight against the aliens and their minions who destroyed his empire almost 20 years ago, as well as his continuing suspicions of almost everyone and everything around him. Set a little over a year before XCOM 2.
1. A Day In Hell

**Hey there, everyone. Sorry to those who might have shared the link to this a few times, though I don't have enough self-esteem to believe it happened personally. This is only my second fic (the first so horrible it shall be hidden forever as long as I have a say in it), not to mention the first time I use this site. It's taking a while to figure out what everything does and getting used to the UI.**

 **Anyway, this is a fic I made based off one of my characters in my XCOM 2 game, which was based off my character in a now canceled game called Triad Wars. I wrote his bio as a really paranoid person that really doesn't trust XCOM, and pointed to various things that people in his situation might be suspicious of.**

 **This fic really wasn't supposed to happen at all. It started out as something I long forgotten, but a friend convinced me to turn what I had into an XCOM fic, so here we are.**

 **I had a lot of fun writing this, and I only hope everyone has as much fun reading this. The part where no one really cares about ends here now, enjoy my hopefully good story and my definitely bad naming ability in the form of XCOM: Splinter.**

* * *

 **XCOM: Splinter**

Chapter 1

~ A Day in Hell ~

Sometimes, I forget I'm actually being paid for this.

Because really, who in their right minds would take any amount of money to put up with THIS?

It's not as if the streets or, hell, the fucking military was exponentially better, but THIS? I'm sitting in a ditch somewhere on mother earth and it smells like socks stuffed with mud, shit and old coins. Mag-bolts are whizzing over my head and where they hit mud splatters everywhere. Someone over the radio is saying something I can't make out over the sound of explosions and random mouth noises from every direction. I know this can't last, but I'm just really missing my bunk right now.

Obviously, if i sit here, I'm not moving any closer to my bunk, so there's my motivational speech.

Gunfire over my head is dying down a little. A frag should work. Pin out, lever off...two...now-

* * *

 _ **Bang!**_

"ON YOUR FEET, SHITBAG!"

I groggily opened my eyes and grumbled, "The fuck…?"

Wrong answer, apparently. Drill Sergeant Asshole Supreme kicked me right off my bunk and I fell flat on the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said as he marched around the bed, M9 pistol still in hand, "did I interrupt a nice dream?"

"Uh…" I mumbled, clumsily standing up to attention, "No, sir...just...killing aliens and stuff…"

He leaned in even closer. I could smell his breath, and good God, what the fuck did he eat? "Still asleep are we? Need me to wake you up?"

And he started to slap me, again and again, "Hey shitbag, wake up! Wake the fuck up! Come on, wake up!"

* * *

" _ **WAKE THE FUCK UP!**_ "

I forced my eyes open, and I was still in hell, and hell still stank of mud, shit and old coins. Only difference was that it was a lot quieter than before, save an annoying ringing noise.

The date is December 28th, 2033. My name is Ryder Lynn. I was a petty criminal from the slums until an overambitious little heist left me with the choice of years in prison or less years than that in military service. When I left the military, I got right back into the business and climbed way up the ladder. 2015, aliens invade and my empire is completely destroyed by the time ADVENT really came around, which was sometime '16, '17-ish. Joined a resistance group mainly to get back at ADVENT sometime late '17. That group did pretty good until it fell apart sometime around '24 when a bunch of dudes suddenly exploded into blob monsters just as 3 dropships of troopers and MECs came in on top of us. Me and a few other guys managed to escape and formed a small splinter group that barely scraped by for a good few years. We thought we were some of the few still "resisting" in the world, till we managed to form up with this big resistance network under XCOM '30-ish.

Personally I'm very skeptical of this lot. They literally take their orders from a Shadow Man. So far that guy hasn't made any overtly obvious moves to fuck anyone over, but it's not exactly an ancient mystery the best way to betray someone is to earn their undying trust first. I try to avoid getting involved with them as much as possible, even telling them we're a mercenary group instead of a resistance splinter, though I'd be lying if I said the support of the wider resistance network was unwelcome, and that the occasional actions of the actual XCOM fighters didn't achieve something half the time. I just try to give them as little info about our group as possible, so in the event the entire thing comes crashing down, we'd be able to escape again.

 _Well seems like most of my memory is intact_ , I thought, noticing I forgot what I had for breakfast (assuming I had breakfast), _only question now is…_

"Stop slapping me, for fuck's sake, I'm up now. How long was I out? Fuck happened?"

The guy, Randall, his name was, turned to me, "Hell you saying? You got a concussion? Please don't get a concussion, we're still in the shit. Anyway, stray shot caught that nade of yours and the damn thing fell back into the ditch. I think I have shrapnel in my leg, you?"

I checked, "I think I have some in my right shoulder and hip. Vest caught most of the 'shrap, I think. Where's my rifle?"

He waved in the vague direction to my left, "Somewhere around thataw- " he didn't finish, a mag-bolt caught him square in the jaw and his head was blown right off at the neck. Those weapons could punch holes in cinder block walls.

"Fuck," I grumbled, before pulling out my radio, "This is Ryder, talk to me, over."

"Ryder?" It was Yuriel, muffled by static and background gunfire, "Thought you finally kicked the bucket back there."

"I did, Asshole Supreme was the receptionist down below and he told me to haul my ass back here," I said.

She chuckled, "Yeah, if that guy told me to come back from the dead, I would, too. Give me a second here..." gunfire was the only thing out of it for a bit, then, "Ow, I think they gave me a new piercing back there. Anyways, there are 2 troopers moving on your ditch, South-Southeast-ish, once you're done with them help us out here. We're holed up in the hideout still. Can't miss it, it's kinda the only building 'round here and it's on fire."

South-Southeast-ish. They're either heading straight for me or going around to get on both sides of the ditch further down and work their way up. And if I had to guess, I'd say they were confirming the kills, but who really knows what goes through these things' faces. It's what I would do, and it's kinda basic strategy to send more people than you expect to fight, even if your own guys have automatic railguns, high-tech, full-body armour, and a helmet so fancy it has no visor. Chances are I'm right though. I can hear stomping in the razed mud. From the movement sounds, it seems like they're doing the classic sprint-and-cover routine.

Again these freaks reminds me how creepy they can be. They're about as talkative as rocks, the only time any noise comes out of their apparent yaps is when you shoot them, and whatever these guys have for vocal cords, it makes their voices take nosedives down that uncanny valley thing, not to mention they don't speak Planet Earth. And yet they have almost perfect coordination, and get their orders without a word being passed.

I just don't get it.

They're almost to the ditch. The next sprinter runs up and stops some ways before the lip of the ditch, and I grumbled inwardly.

 _Clever_ , I thought, _if there was something alive in here, you'll present two targets with two guns ready once the next sprinter comes up, too._

I had dragged Randall's body over my legs, and sat slumped over, eyes open and blank, and I was already covered in blood. At first glance I would appear dead. If I'm lucky a first glance is all these things would take, they do have a skirmish going on behind them still, after all. And then they'll decide to rejoin the others and turn their backs around to face me.

But since I'm unlucky, the freaks decide to hop into the ditch to make extra sure, at least they didn't just put a mag-bolt into each of us and be done with it, I guess.

And suddenly hell seemed to freeze over at the crack of a mag-rifle, and I wondered for a moment if it was all my blood draining from a gaping hole in my chest.

But there was no hole in my chest, and no further mag-shots, Next thing I heard was something tumbling down into the ditch.

The thing fell into view, and I saw it was one of the troopers. I didn't hear the other one move, and figured it must be dead, too.

Looking up corrected that guess. The trooper was standing there, rifle leveled and ready, and I realised the feeling before was the chill they say goes down your spine, except that it goes up and down everything.

It wasn't as if I was unprepared for something like this. I had a revolver in my hand, hidden under Randall's body, but I had intended to catch them off guard, not have a fucking shoot-off with them, and I just lifted my stupid head right in front of one of them when I was supposed to be dead!

No time to think, I grabbed Randall's body and raised it in front of me as a shield with one hand, and raised my gun hand at the same time.

To my surprise, the trooper lowered his rifle and raised a hand, "Stop," and I was so dumbfounded I did.

"I am no enemy," it said, "I am free of the Influence."

 _Oh great_ , I thought.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, even if everyone in the "resistance" hates the aliens and ADVENT, we still manage to find differences in each other enough to form rival factions. Some things just don't change.

The faction it could be said I belong to is the largest group, the sane and the idiots. We just pick up a gun and shoot the enemy, and are all maybe-sorta-not really under XCOM.

There are three other factions. One is made up of survivalists that eat the aliens they kill - which may seem resourceful on the surface, but has to be incredibly dangerous not to mention disgusting - called the Reapers, cuz apparently they are also emos.

The second is made up of complete maniacs that dive into this alien magic thing that is inside everyone or some such nonsense. I hear they even organise themselves like a religious cult, and call themselves Templars to boot. I'm honestly surprised the entire group didn't all end up brain-dead on conception.

Then there is the third faction, made up of "free ADVENT". Story goes that these guys are actually under mind control, and sometimes they manage to free themselves of it (or more likely, the ones already free go about freeing others), and these guys all end up in the Skirmisher faction, since no one else wants them, and for good reason.

Now correct me if I'm wrong, but if there was someone capable of controlling your thoughts and your actions, that someone can also make you think you are free of such control and that you have to join these resistance movements and get real close to these guys and have a few strings in as many of its operations as possible.

The other factions have a tendency to distrust each other, but NO ONE trusts the Skirmishers, fucking no one. XCOM seem to be cautiously optimistic about the group, and that's the closest anyone has gotten far as I know. They're probably really desperate for any help they can get.

* * *

And maybe I'm desperate, maybe I didn't think it through, maybe that frag knocked some common sense out of me, or maybe I'm just plain old stupid, but I decided to believe the damn freak.

Not completely, mind, I wasn't that out of it. I decided not to pop the guy for now, but I wasn't about to holster the weapon and go frolicking in the flowers with it just yet.

"Well," I said, slowly standing up, weapon still pointed squarely at the little gap in their helmets, "aren't I lucky, to run into a Skirmisher wannabe this fine day."

"We have no time for this," it said, "they are breaching into the stronghold even as we speak."

 _Just wonderful_.

"Lead the way then," I said.

It nodded and marched off, and after a few seconds and wondering if I should just shoot it, I followed.

* * *

"The stronghold has surrendered," it said, "the prisoners are to be executed by firing squad."

"Any more good news?" It was a little while before that I realized I left my rifle in the ditch. All I had on me was the revolver, a combat knife and two frags I pulled off Randall(If they didn't kill me back in the ditch I damn well wasn't about to be taken alive.).

"Yes," it said, I don't know if it was being sarcastic. "The execution is only after all prisoners have been rounded up. I have reported you as my prisoner. They will wait for your arrival."

"Brilliant, the guys can live for a few more minutes, then." I said, my anger rising, "You want me to shoot you now?"

"Remain calm. We can save your comrades still," it said, "Their guard will be lowered. We can kill them all"

* * *

"This is unexpected," it said.

"No shit," I rasped.

We were approaching the building the others were holed up in, and there were more than a few troopers and a captain hanging around the place. There were more troopers and 3 captains, for one. There were even 2 MECs there, not to mention a few dropships hovering overhead.

"This isn't a normal raid. What's going on here?" I wondered out loud.

"I do not know," the trooper said, "we troopers were only told to assault this stronghold, and we were completely prohibited from using explosives."

That WAS odd, I thought, these guys chucked frags like nothing. As soon as a stand-off type situation comes up, the pin and lever of a frag comes off.

"What's that?" I asked.

2 more MECs came out of the building. They were carrying a metal box between them. I recognize that box, we pulled it off a truck a few weeks back on a convoy raid. It was locked up tight, but the other boxes had enough food and water to last a while, so we didn't try opening it too much. Some of us thought it had some weapons or equipment, so we didn't just ditch the thing, either.

"I...do not know..." it said, confused for the first time, "We were not told of anything we were supposed to find. This will not be the first time we weren't informed of the main purpose behind our operations, however."

One of the dropships came and landed to my right, putting us between it and the building, the troopers, MECs, and comrades, and the box-carriers started heading towards the dropship.

As we got closer, I could hear some arguing coming from the captured guys, all with their hands behind their heads. Specifically, one of the captains was saying something to Pavle, and he was shouting back, again and again, variations of, "English, motherfucker, do you speak it?"

"The captain is demanding who provided the information for the power converter," the trooper said.

"Converter? That's what's in the box?" I said, "We thought it was a weapons crate or something."

It shook its head, "Weapons do not need to be placed in a secure container. They have genetic locks that trigger when held by an unauthorized individual. It is to prevent dissidents and known deserters from using them."

"Good to know," I mumbled, "You got a plan?"

"An incredibly primitive and risky plan, yes."

"Funny. That's what I would call my plan."

* * *

By now, I had my hands behind me, seemingly bound, and the trooper was marching me ahead of it, angled to intersect with the MECs heading for the dropship.

The troopers' and captains' attentions was still focused on trying to speak gibberish to Pavle, frustration clearly boiling, and the shouting captain was trying to get the message across by gesturing at the box, and the other guys are struggling not to laugh as Pavle became increasingly offensive and nonsensical as time goes on

" _What, the box? It's my collection of dildos and used syringes, what the fuck do you want about them?"_

We had a plan. We might as well didn't considering what a horrible plan it was, but between a horrible plan that will probably get everyone killed and no plan and definitely get everyone killed, I think I'll go with the former.

" _So you're policing dildos now? What's next, you gonna tell us that shoelaces are against the law and everyone has to wear velcros? Are you from the Velcro Conglomerate!? Are you!?"_

We were almost on top of the box carriers by now. The MECs paid us no mind, they weren't supposed to, it's not their job to. One of the troopers noticed us and shouted, but we ignored it and kept walking. The others seemed to neither notice nor care, but time was running short now.

I mentioned earlier how it was basic strategy to bring more men than you expect to fight, and that holds true in most cases, but surprise and good planning can even up the odds.

Now I didn't have a good plan, I knew that already, but I'm thinking one of your own firing at you and his supposed prisoner turning out to be unbound and armed would be enough of a surprise that my sorry excuse of a plan might stand on that alone.

The MECs were immediately confused. They turned to face the newfound enemy only to find a friendly instead, then turned the other way, possibly thinking there was another enemy that it was shooting at. Meanwhile, I chucked the frag as close to the troopers as I dared hopefully harming as little of my guys as possible.

The troopers reacted much the same way as the MECs did, turning away looking for an enemy that wasn't there. The guys saw me toss the frag and took the hint, all of them flattening themselves against the dirt.

The explosion took out about half of the troopers, disabled one of the MECs and injured and stunned more troopers. The captains were pretty far away from the frag, though, since they were the closest to my guys, and most were confused at best. They tried to rally the troopers still alive, but my guys rose as one then and attacked them in melee, some even pulling out knives and shivs from hidden pockets.

The MEC that was still operating turned on my guys, and there was this moment where I thought I might have made a mistake, but the MECs didn't fire into the hodgepodge of fighting people, they were programmed not to hurt friendlies after all.

My trooper got a few good shots off and finally caught the MEC at it's neck, blowing it off, much the same way as Randall went, and the MEC went into standby. Seems the trooper knows a thing or two about how to deal with them.

I turned to face the last 2 MECs, but saw that they were busy loading the box into the dropship, the other dropships hovered uselessly overhead. Seems they were only transports and didn't have side-mounted weapons or anyone left in them to fire outwards anyway.

Now, I didn't want anything to do with the genny. I think we weren't even supposed to have gotten it in the first place, it was only luck we managed to get it at all, and it probably had a few tracking devices that lead ADVENT to us anyway. But I damn well wasn't about to just let them have it back.

I pulled the pin on my last frag, and hurled it at the lifting dropship. It landed right in the troop compartment and exploded, blasting away a part of the box, maybe damaging slightly what was inside, and knocking one of the MECs out of the dropship. It fell flailing out of the ship and landed with a loud klank on the dirt.

A distant crack of a mag-weapon pulled my attention back to the fight still going on. The guys were having trouble finding weak spots to jam they knives into, and some of the troopers and captains were beginning to break free. One captain drew it's mag-pistol and blew the head off one guy before a guy jammed his shiv right into it's mouth. Some guys managed to wrestle the trooper's mag-rifles free and tried to shoot them with it, only for it to backfire and blow their shoulders off.

"DON'T USE THEIR WEAPONS!" I shouted, "THE THINGS HAVE PERSONAL LOCKS ON THEM! THEY'RE BOOBY-TRAPPED!"

Nikolas looked up from the trooper he just killed, and had an idea. The guy always sticks out his lower jaw when he has an idea.

He reached down to the dead trooper and grabbed it's hands, using it to hold the rifle. He then pointed it to one trooper that had turned on one of the guys and was trying to beat him with the butt of it's rifle, and used the corpse's hands to pull the trigger.

For once, the sound of a mag-weapon going off didn't come with a feeling of dread, and the trooper fell messily to the ground. The fight turned then, more started using the trick, and me and my trooper arrived to help out too.

By the time I shot the last captain with my revolver, we had lost a good number of our own, and the dropships took off, deciding it was better to cover the box-carrier ship than stick around. Only ones left were me, the trooper, Pavle, Nikolas, and Yuriel. It took a little convincing for them to not shoot the trooper, but they came around.

The trooper removed it's helmet and collapsed on the dirt. "Is it always this exhausting?"

Pavle chucked, "Sometimes. Be glad you weren't here last Thursday." Nothing in particular happened last Thursday.

"Say, boy," said Yuriel, "What's your name?"

"My designation number is FT- "

"Stop right there," interrupted Nikolas, "We don't want to know your designation whatever. Give us an actual word that can be your name."

The trooper looked puzzled for a bit, then he said, "Beltar."

"The fuck?" I asked.

Beltar looked at me, "You wanted a word. That means 'run'."

"Feh, it'll work," I said, and reached towards him. Beltar grabbed my hand and I pulled him up.

"Only one rule here you need to know," I said, "You fuck us over, we shoot you. Got it?"

"Clearly," he said, nodding.

Then we all looked up, having heard it at the same time. The sound of jet engines approaching.

A few minutes after, it came into view. It wasn't another ADVENT dropship, but the Skyranger. I saw it a few times, when it ferried XCOM fighters into combat zones.

The Skyranger turned around and landed, its rear doors falling open and four armed fighters pouring out. One ran up to us.

"Where is the converter?" he asked.

"Hey man," said Pavle, "Nice of you to come and help us deal with this little ADVENT raid. We couldn't have done it without you. No, really. Without your gallant rescue, where would we be now?"

The man looked a little sheepish, "We only just received word a half hour ago about an ADVENT attack, we got here as fast as we could."

Pavle ignored him, continuing, " Extraterrestrial Combat Unit, XCOM. Our first and last line of defense against possible alien threats. Protectors and saviors of humanity. And has the **WORLD'S BEST TIMING**. No wonder the Earth was saved."

He was getting a little annoyed now, "Okay, look, that-"

"Shut the fuck up," I interrupted, "The box is in a ship heading for the horizon over that direction." I waved in the general direction the ship flew to, "Again, you're late."

"Dammit," he said, then walked off for a bit and said a few things into his radio.

"Hey, you. Yeah, you," I said to one of the fighters, "You got a smoke?"

He fished around in his pockets for a bit, then passed me one and lit it.

"Thanks," I said, and took a pull. The man walked back, having finished his talk with the radio.

"Okay, I explained the situation to Bradford," he said, "and he invites you to join us at XCOM."

Yuriel looked at him, then at us, "Well, why no-" "Because then we-" "What will become-" "Look here every-" "All of you, PLEASE-"

Listening to them argue, I took another pull of the cigarette. What a long fucking day it's been.


	2. The Belly of the Beast

**Hey again, this particular chapter took longer than usual because I really wanted to talk a lot of lore without knowing a lot of those parts of the lore in the books. I've only played XCOM 2 and all the story DLCs as well as WOTC, so if I messed up any bits of lore here, its totally not my fault because I got a friend who reads the books to look this over and he gave it a thumbs-up.**

 **I also ended up writing a little bit about military boot camp. I did a little googling on how those things go, but they're probably not quite what actual soldiers remember going through. Hopefully though my writing was good enough for you to overlook any problems.**

 **That's all I have to say to you this time around. Mercifully short, I know, now I hope you'll enjoy the second chapter - and probably any future chapters - of XCOM: Splinter**

* * *

 **XCOM: Splinter**

Chapter 2

~ The Belly of the Beast ~

In the end, it was decided that we would join up with XCOM. It was honestly kind of inevitable that it was what we had to do. Our shelter was in ruins, most of our supplies were torched, and even if those weren't the case, our hideout's location was busted. No one was especially enthusiastic about looking for a new base, either, let alone building one, especially when our supplies were basically all gone.

Obviously, it could all be a setup. The aliens and the Shadow Man could have set this situation so we had no real choice but to join XCOM, where the Shadow Man could always know where we were. But that sounds like one of those stupid conspiracy theories that idiots cook up thinking that literally anyone actually cares about their day-to-day lives. We were less than a thorn in the side of ADVENT, let alone the aliens above them.

Granted, if small resistance groups start getting taken apart one after the other, and their remnants all get sent to XCOM, then it could be that ADVENT plans to bunch all the smaller resistance groups into a single massive pile where taking them all down in one go, but I think if we're especially vigilant for that possibility, it would be pretty easy to foresee.

For the present, though, the four of us from the shattered splinter were to be sent to the super secret XCOM base, while Beltar was to be sent to the Skirmishers, obviously. Even if XCOM were the most welcoming to their type among anyone else, they still have their reservations, and the Skirmishers want every "defector" with them anyway.

Oh well, so much for keeping an eye on him. I get the feeling we'll be seeing him again eventually, though.

So after dropping Beltar off at a rendezvous point where the Skirmishers received him, we were ferried off to the Avenger, as they called it. It was a jerry-rigged alien supply ship, which honestly set off so many of alarm bells it wasn't even funny. Pavle asked them how are they so sure it was safe, they asked him if anywhere was safe for our type this day and age, and honestly I had to agree. Our old hideout, which we tried to make as isolated and unsuspecting as possible, was just raided and destroyed.

Nowhere was safe enough to be called that anymore. At least, if nothing else, the Avenger has really tough metal armor for walls. We were also told that there was a bar, a shooting range and real beds and bathrooms, so yeah. Assuming it wasn't already compromised, it was practically an armored luxury resort.

It was also completely grounded. Apparently the aliens abandoned the ship after it was shot down during early '15, when the aliens were still going about their whole invasion thing. Anyone's guess why they didn't come back and scrap the entire thing and take it home, maybe they thought some resistance hopefuls might come along and make it their home so they can blow it up one day and laugh at the shattered corpses.

Anyway, the Skyranger landed on the pad and descended into the base. Like the entire pad went downwards into the hanger. Fancy. The landing ramp dropped and we were met by three people. Two were armed fighters, the third was a gruff old guy. He introduced himself as John Bradford, Central Officer. I asked him what the hell was a central officer - never heard of that rank before. He just shrugged and said, "It's what they call me. I'm basically executive officer, and currently acting commander."

"Acting commander," I noticed, "Where is your real commander? Off the base?"

"Well…" he said, "...we're still figuring that one out."

"You lost your own fucking commander!?" cried Pavle, "Actually, I think we're reconsidering this whole 'joining XCOM' gig now, I think we'll all just go back home, can you drop us off at the nearest resistance base?"

"Hold up now, that's not how it sounds," said Bradford, "we didn't 'lose' anyone. The commander was captured almost 19 years ago when our old base was attacked and destroyed by the aliens."

"Then the man is dead." said Nikolas, deadpan.

"Or turned," I added, "I've spent less time turning supposedly trustworthy men into traitors."

The XCOM guys looked at me funny, and I said, "I used to run a triad branch back before the war. I do this shit," then I shrugged and said, "Still manage to turn the odd ADVENT drone every now and again. Usually I never hear from them again afterwards though."

"No," said Bradford as he shook his head, "The commander is not dead, has not turned traitor, and is still out there."

"Oh don't tell me," said Pavle, "next you'll say you see him in your dreams every night and he tells you he's waiting for you and he misses you all. Or wait, is it a she?"

"Doesn't matter," I said, cutting in, "Point is that you spent the past 19 years and counting looking for a single person that you're somehow convinced isn't dead or turned. I'll roll with you on that for now, I personally think it's blindingly stupid but what do I know, right? Please don't tell me that's all you guys have been up to, because if so, we're gonna be at it for the next 19 years."

Bradford folded his arms and looked away from Pavle to me, seemingly happy that I changed the subject, "No, of course not. We've been working on the Avenger, for one. Most of the important stuff are in, some not-so-important stuff, too. We needed a certain alien power converter to safely power any more facilities, but..." he gestured towards us, "...you know how that's working out. Shen won't be happy to hear the reports. She was real excited when she heard you fellas pulled it off a convoy completely by accident."

"What? What about me?" came a voice behind Bradford.

We turned to find a girl march towards us, I wouldn't put her past 20 or 30 years old. She looked to be the youngest person I've seen in XCOM so far, which was surprising. Most people her age spend their lives in the city centers, or maybe the shanty towns before eventually moving to the city centers.

She reached Bradford, "Well, what's up? Where's the converter?"

Bradford turned back to us, "Fellas...Lily Shen...Chief Engineer."

"Chief what? Really?" asked Nikolas, "How old are you?"

"26, and before you ask, yes, I am qualified for the job," she said, I get the feeling she had to answer that question several times before, "now where's the converter?"

Yuriel pointed back at the XCOM fighters and said, "Your boys were late to the party. ADVENT done packed the box up and took off. Ryder here saw fit to bomb the box before it took off, though."

"You did **WHAT**!?" she screamed at me.

I raised my hands in a mock surrender and said, "Hey, whatever was in the box, I wasn't about to just let them take it."

"You threw a grenade at- ...What did you- ...how-" she stumbled through her words for a bit, then she suddenly thought of something and said, "Well, assuming it didn't already destroy itself, ADVENT will need to get it looked at and repaired. We might actually get back on it's scent if we track shipments for damaged equipment." and marched off without another word.

"Lily Shen," Bradford repeated, watching her go, "Daughter of Raymond Shen, former Chief Engineer of the original XCOM Project during the invasion. One of the brightest kids I ever seen, and persistent to boot." He turned back to us and said, "She'll do just fine."

"I'll believe it when I see it," I said, and held out two fingers, pressing down on the second with my other hand, "So you're also fixing up this wreck, and I guess we just set you back probably a few months-"

"No, actually," interrupted Bradford, "you moved the schedule pretty far forwards when you got the converter. Now that you lost it, it just went back more or less the way it was before."

"Good to know," I replied, "Anything else?"

He scratched his chin, "Nothing exciting. We've been tied up managing the resistance network without a proper network set up, and trying to keep the different resistance factions from killing each other. The odd convoy raid, being the neutral party when the factions start getting into heated disagreements," then he gestured at us, "building up our strength by recruiting promising fighters."

"Aw, shucks, you shouldn't have," said Pavle, "all we did was fight off a small army all by ourselves and lost most of our members in the process."

"Well," said Bradford, "now you can do it all again, this time under XCOM. This fight isn't easy, but I promise you at least that we always try our damndest to get you back alive."

"I'll believe it when I see it," I said again, "Now what?"

"Well, now you guys need to meet one more person…" said Bradford, "you won't talk with him a lot, I think...but it's important you have a chat with him before anything else."

"Actually, there's one other thing more important than that," says Pavle urgently, "maybe it's everything that happened earlier, but this just became something really important."

"Oh yeah?" Bradford chucked, "What's that?"

"Bathroom," he said simply, and the rest of us immediately felt it, too.

* * *

"Dr. Richard Tygan," said the man, nodding at us, "Chief Science Officer."

We had went all the way to the back of the ship to a science lab. To the side of the room - though saying that sounds like it just sorta sat there, it wasn't - was a massive glowing alien machine. It didn't take a genius to guess what it probably was.

"I am mainly responsible for triage for now, but it is planned that I shall invest in new technologies with which to arm our troops. Currently our goals in this regard include researching ADVENT brain implant technologies and an alternative to radio communication."

The second I roughly understood. Radios were, after all, more or less useless for covert communication, like the type that was needed for a resistance movement trying to stay hidden from big brother watching from above. A bit of a stopgap solution was fitting various shanty towns with radio receivers and transmitters and then bouncing the signal back and forth between them all. This confused ADVENT slightly and made it harder to track down it's intended target, but its still for emergencies, just in case.

The first, though...caught my attention.

"Brain implants?" I asked.

Tygan looked up, "Yes, I participated in the initial research to develop it. The tech has progressed further since I left ADVENT, however. We'll need to learn more about it if we are to combat the aliens." Before I could ask the next question, he turned around and pointed to a criss-cross of scars at the back of his head. "I myself had one of those implants, but had to remove it myself when I defected from ADVENT. It doesn't take much to guess the different functions of these chips, after all."

I nodded at that. Tracking the position of the implanted person was a given, but I had another question about it. "Does it include…" I paused a little trying to find a better word, but failing, "...mind control?"

Tygan turned back, "the theory is sound, but until we begin research into the possibility, it remains a theory," and guessing my next question, he continues, "As for the ADVENT troopers, I believe their implants serve mainly as receivers for psionic signals to influence the minds of the troopers, possibly to enforce their loyalty and issue orders, with the officer's chips slightly modified to serve as short-ranged transmitters to pass down orders to nearby troopers. A few rare individuals, though, have more...individuality than the rest of their kind. These rare few are capable of resisting the influence of the chip, and even manage to break free of it entirely if they remove said chips. As you know, the Skirmishers are not doctors, so these procedures have to be...extremely dangerous, not to mention excruciating. I at least had access to anesthesia and a fairly educated idea of the removal process when I operated on myself; Skirmishers usually have no choice but to pull on it and hope for the best," he looked grave and said, "I imagine most prefered death to continued servitude under the Elders."

Then came the rather obvious next question, "Then why aren't there any alien 'defectors'?"

"Well...we aren't entirely sure, but I have a theory," said Tygan, "The current alien forces have possibly been under the aliens for a long, long time before they even found planet Earth, and so any complication that could cause the conception of a similar outlier among their ranks to have long been removed, assuming they ever existed to begin with. Meanwhile, the average ADVENT troopers are very likely modified humans, or at least they are more human than alien, and thus human individuality tends to shine through in some more than others, which are probably helped along in no small part by latent psionic talents on top of it all."

"Makes sense," cut in Bradford. I had nearly forgotten he was still there, "We humans have a bit of a history of rebellion, after all. The aliens need to work harder than that to change that part of us."

"I could pick out a few people from the city centers that would say different," said Nikolas, "fight for it, too."

Bradford shook his head, "Through widespread misinformation and propaganda. The people are a powder keg. We only need to light the fuse"

"A poetic way to put it," said Tygan, "Sadly, with the converter still out of our reach, said fuse will remain cold for the foreseeable future."

"Tell me again why you need this thingamajig again," says Yuriel, pointing at the giant glowing thing in the room, "looks to me like you've got plenty of power to go around, unless this is just a giant alien lava lamp?"

"The raw power is there, yes," he said, "but is rather...unstable. Without the converter, we've had to severely limit our power use, or else we risk causing the power core running out of control, cause a ship-wide overcurrent and probably kill half the crew from electrocution - in the best case scenario. Sadly, there is only one way to determine the worst case scenario, so I can't say anything regarding that possibility."

"So it's a fancy power transformer," concluded Nikolas.

"Yes," said Tygan, "the only one we know of that can fit on this ship and not weigh it down during flight."

"Wait, you intend for this metal brick to fly?" asked Pavle.

"Of course," said Bradford, "we need to stay mobile if we want to carry out our operations and dodge potential alien counterattacks at the same time."

"You got airsickness meds for the occasion?" asked Pavle.

"I think so, yeah," said Bradford, grinning slightly "Why, you get motion sick?"

"Come to think of it, you didn't say anything on the flight here, did you?" asked Yuriel.

"Fuck off," snapped Pavle, "can't blame a guy who likes to keep his feet on the dirt."

* * *

"What do you guys think?" I asked. We were in the bar, having been shown our bunks, around the ship, and introduced to the other fighters onboard. The bar was stocked with moonshine, cheap beer, water, juice and the odd fancy brew. They even had ice.

"Pretty okay selection." said Pavle, "I expected nothing but moonshine, half of which would make you blind."

"Not that, dammit," I said.

"I know," he said, "But what do you want from me? The guys look like they want to do this, I haven't seen any aliens stalking around this place, and most importantly, we aren't being drugged and hauled off this place," then he looked down at his cup, "probably not."

"There is an archive up top, and I hear there are some old papers on XCOM there," said Nikolas, "I'm gonna go for a read later, assuming it's not all fake - and I think I'll be able to tell - I might be able to find out something useful from it."

"I'll ask around," offered Yuriel, "quite a few people in this place. If there's anything fishy going on, there might be a few who picked up on things, and if not, there might still be a few who know something useful."

"You guys do that," I said, "and Pavle, don't start any unnecessary trouble."

"Yeah, no problem," said Pavle, refilling his cup, "What about you? What're you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna talk to some of the more bigshot guys," I replied, "probably means Bradford and Shen, see what they're all about."

* * *

"I got the top bunk," she said.

"No, I got top bunk," I said.

"I got dibs on top bunk," she said.

"And I'll punch you in the face," I said

She leaned close and said, "go on, then," daring me to take a swing

I pulled my fist back just before I remembered that literally doing anything I shouldn't do _will_ absolutely land me back in the slammer. She smiled and turned away, "guess you have the lower bunk."

I sighed. I mean, I guess the lower bunk is all right. Sure, it's where the stench of sweat drifts down to, it's not directly underneath the ceiling fans, it's somehow where all the mosquitoes go and I'm not dumb enough to think the bedframe will break under anything short of someone who shouldn't even be here in the first place but...I guess I can get out of bed faster if I need a piss really bad at night?

I dunno, I wanted the top bunk.

I plopped my largely empty bag down on my bed and sat down. Most of the stuff I had were issued to me as part of my kit. I wasn't even allowed to bring reading material, which I found pretty dumb as a rule and was tempted to break, but I had to be a "good kid" for the duration of my service in uniform.

"Hey you down there," the woman says, "what's your name?"

"It's written on my shirt," I replied.

She looks over the side of the top bunk and then said, "It's upside down."

"No it's- " I looked down at the name patch, "no it's fucking not."

"Well I'm not coming down until I have to, so you might as well just tell me," she said.

I sighed again, "Ryder. Just call me Ryder."

"Really?" she asked, "You don't look like a Ryder."

"And you don't sound like someone who wants to be in the top bunk," I snapped, and she disappeared back over the side of the top bunk.

"It's Yuriel, by the way." she said.

"What?" I asked.

"My name." She said, "It's Yuriel. Yuriel Laika."

"Fuck kind of name is that?" I asked.

"It's the kind of name that sleeps in the top bunk," she said, "also I think it's the name of a dog."

I took a deep breath, held it for a little, then let it out in a long sigh. Then I started to chuckle. It wasn't as if what just happened was especially funny, but I felt as if everything that happened over the past few weeks was a really weird dream to laugh over with some close friends.

" _Hey, speaking of, I had this dream once where I broke into that tea shop by the main road, got caught because I forgot a tea shop had a lot of clay cups that made lots of noise when you drop them, got sent to the army because the judge thought my little heist was so stupid there was no way I was a career criminal but was just a 'misguided youth' that needed some direction in life. Then I had a little fight with a random girl named after a dog over who gets the top bunk. Don't know how I dreamt that all up in one night, but doesn't it just sound really stupid?"_

"Atten- **SHUN**!" boomed the drill sergeant as he practically burst into the barracks. I hadn't bothered to read his name patch yet. Not exactly time to do so, though, not as we all hurried to stand at attention next to our bunks.

"I do hope you got all of your shit sorted through, 'cuz you won't be seeing them again till midnight!" he said, "Now I want you lot to get in formation outside in ten! And I mean **SECONDS**!" And with that, he turned on his heel and marched out.

"Well, Yuriel," I said before we started for the door, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, I guess."

"You're not getting the top bunk, y'know," she said.

"Yeah, well, fuck you, too," I said, chuckled again, and went for the door.


	3. Into the Breach

**Hey, sorry this took longer than usual. Well, "usual" as in between the first and second chapter. I wanted to have a schedule of like once every 2 weeks or so, but a couple of really busy weeks at work and me having a lot to write in this particular chapter kinda made it way longer than 2 weeks.**

 **Nothing much to say besides that, enjoy the fic. No I won't shoehorn the fic's name this time, don't know why I did that last time.**

* * *

 **XCOM: Splinter**

Chapter 3

~ Into the Breach ~

The silence of the muffled troop compartment in the Skyranger gave me a chance to reflect on things so far.

Now, it's true that my default reaction to anyone or anything that comes into my life is immediate suspicion, especially in the past 19 years, but I can keep an open mind to things, else I wouldn't trust anything. Granted, just because I took my time believing in something doesn't mean I got it right, but my track record is still pretty good. I mean, it has to be, right? I'm not dead yet.

Point is that people I've come to trust are telling me that maybe XCOM isn't the enemy. It's something I would honestly like to believe, since thinking my bedfellows might want to kill me in the night isn't making sleeping any easier. I am still going to take my time, though. Last thing I need is putting my trust in something I shouldn't have again.

The Skyranger jerked up, then down, snapping me out of my daydreams. A belching noise from Pavle's direction worried me for a moment, but a second of silence followed by a low, "I'm good, I'm good..." let me relax again.

I remember the first time I met Nikolas Alexander, it wasn't that long after I first became a "resistance member". He was a kid fresh out of college then, or rather, his college was shut down by ADVENT and replaced with a propaganda regurgitator.

Apparently, he was messing around with a radio with his newfound free time and accidentally stumbled on the frequency we were using for a hit nearby. Of all the things he could have done as a normal person in that situation, he hijacked the signal and started asking if we were the resistance and if he could join. Mind you, this would be quite charming if he didn't also have a ridiculously high-powered radio that tripped half a dozen alarms when the spoke into the mic, which didn't get him any friends among us.

As it turns out, the kid used to study engineering, and was good enough to cross a few wires and cause an outage across the whole town we were in, and that made everyone like him more. He also helped set up a few stuff back at our hideout like a battery farm, a shower with hot water, tin can grenades, and a few other useful things on the side.

Now, he wasn't exactly a doc, but I guess if you gave him a little flying robot that sprays magic medical goo, that doesn't really matter.

On the other hand, I wish I could forget the day I met Pavle Gospodin. The homeless fuck managed to break into our hideout while we were out once and we came back to find him passed-out drunk on our medical (and non-medical) alcohol, a bunch of food and water gone, the few cushions we had slashed open for some reason, and the place otherwise trashed.

Most of us just wanted to pop a round in his skull, bury him somewhere and try to fix what the hobo didn't wreck completely and start planning how we would ration our supplies, but then he woke up before we finished deciding which gun we should use.

As it turns out, the hobo was a former bodybuilder and LARPer. He let us know those things about himself as he started beating everyone up while screaming something about an army of frog-zombies and the immortal demon gorilla. You'd think it would be easy to tell a bodybuilder hobo from a regular hobo, but, well, we weren't exactly checking out how swole the random hobo that just trashed our home was.

That said, though, I'm guessing no one thought he was anything other than seriously off the rocker or high off his tits on something he should've diluted back then. Either way, it was a mess of flailing limbs and breaking furniture for a while as we forgot about our weapons, mostly just trying to pull the hobo off each other. Eventually, someone managed to push the hobo's face through a table and that finally made him stop moving, though not before croaking, "Heyyy...where did everyone go…?."

The next few days was just us putting a gun to his head and going, "So explain to us again why shouldn't we just pop you?" And him going, "Cuz I'll kill shit with you guys."

We weren't that convinced, obviously, but we weren't feeling nice enough to just shoot him anymore, so instead we gave him an old knife we had, pointed him at a random ADVENT outpost, told him to clear it out and left him there.

He was back at the hideout the next morning complaining about how dull the knife was, still covered in orange viscera and other nasties.

We kinda had to bring him in after that, people who could pull off what he did don't just walk up to you every other week, after all. That and he wasn't tied up anymore. He ended up being the craziest motherfucker in our motley crew, but the man knew how to crack the worst jokes at the worst times, and he had a hell of a grenade arm. No one would really admit to liking his company, but tension was always eased with him around.

Oh, he was also nicknamed "Biotongue" because his mouth was a biological hazard.

He was issued a fucking gatling cannon and a grenade launcher at XCOM, and the glee in his eyes as he first laid eyes on his new gear was rather disturbing. He's one of the few people on the ship that was strong enough to hold both weapons and all their ammo on top of the regular gear, though, so even if he might be a little unstable with them - and he was - they needed that heavy support equipment out there and someone to use them.

As for Yuriel Laika, I met her back in still in Basic Training. She was an okay enough person, though she can get awful physical when she's agitated. Her family immigrated from Russia back during the Cold War when she was still a kid, so she doesn't have much of an accent despite her ancestry.

She also has really steady gun hands, enough so that she was transferred out of Basic Training to Marksman School and came back a Designated Marksman.

She said she wanted to move onto Sniper School because she thought snipers were cool, but the sheer amount of math she would need to learn was just not up her alley, so she settled for a DM instead.

Didn't seem to matter, though. She was a pretty instinctive shooter, and could hit targets well enough. It's always a little amusing when she cracks off a shot and suddenly enemy gunfire is one gun less noisy.

I met her again while the invasion was still going on. She was firing down a road at anything that wasn't human and had a pretty sizeable pile of bodies going by the time I bumped into her. Turns out she had been ordered to cover a retreat by her squad, but as we soon found out, said squad was annihilated not too far away from her, leaving her alone to protect a retreat that was already lost.

She agreed to work with me for a while, though my empire was already starting to collapse around me, so she didn't manage to do anything particularly criminal before we were on the run again and ended up in that resistance cell.

Sadly, they didn't have any DMRs onboard the Avenger for her to use, so she's had to make do with a bolt-action rifle. A really big bolt-action rifle. The damn thing was almost as long as Yuriel was tall, and the bullets looked big enough you could stab someone with them.

I figured it would tear her shoulder apart like the ADVENT rifles did the guys, but apparently it had some serious recoil buffers in the body and stock, which at least let her fire more than a fistful of really big bullets per week. Despite the length, the weapon was also surprisingly light. At least, light enough for her to carry it around without much issue and hold it up to fire it without using the bipod.

She was going to have to, after all. The loud whoop and the lights in the compartment switching to red snapped me out of my idle thoughts and brought me back to reality. The one sadly populated by one John 'Central' Bradford and his apparent insistence to make absolutely sure we heard what he said during the mission briefing and before we took off.

My memory wasn't that bad, so I ignored his little speech and checked out my own gear. I was lucky enough to get my prefered gear set from back in the triad. A nice, meaty shotgun (sadly not full- or semi-auto) and a machete. Seems a little lacking for fighting aliens and hybrids in high-tech armor, but I feel at home with my equipment. A rifle would be nice, too, I guess, but I prefer the shotty.

"...progress. Good luck, Splinter Team." finished Bradford. As he did so, the landing ramp fell open to reveal a pre-invasion-looking neighbourhood, and just like we had practiced (what little we did), we ran out and jumped at the rappelling ropes, grabbed onto them and slid down.

Four sets of boots clattered on the pavement below, two at a time. We quickly secured our landing area, confirming it was clear of enemies, and Bradford chimes in with one more quick transmission. Has the man ever heard of radio silence?

"Splinter Team, the resistance hacker is just up ahead." he said, "Be advised, resistance intelligence suggests ADVENT forces have deployed troops to intercept the target. Expect increased resistance as you approach the target location."

"Great," I grumbled to myself. Then turning to the others, I gestured ahead and rasped, "You heard the big man, time to get stomping," then, quickly, I pointed at Pavle and growled, "Not you, I want you on those fucken' toes."

* * *

It was past curfew, so the streets were completely barren. This town may be largely neglected by ADVENT in terms of infrastructure upgrades, but they damn well like to remind everyone they're in power anyway. We had to maneuver around a number of ADVENT security towers and the odd patrol, which delayed us quite a bit.

When we were approaching the target house, things were decidedly not good at all. For one, there were two ADVENT transport vehicles outside, which was two too many. For another, we arrived just in time to watch the troopers haul someone out of the house towards one of the trucks.

"Well, piss," whispered Pavle, as he made a face, "what now, boss?"

I shrugged, still watching the arrest, and whispered, "Mission failure, let's get the hell out of here." and pulled out my radio. They insisted that using this radio was relatively safe - relative to what they didn't say. Situations like this though need some talking to the man up top.

"Splinter One to Avenger base," I whispered into the receiver, being reminded that my callsign was atrocious as I did so, "mission failure, target VIP apprehended by OpFor. Request immediate extraction from mission area." and waited for a response.

After a few tense seconds of silence I rasped into the radio, "Avenger base, respond."

A few more seconds and a growled "What the fuck" later, the radio finally crackled with a response, "Splinter One, this is Avenger base. Extraction request denied."

 _Fuck_ , I thought angrily.

"Switch to secondary objective," said Bradford, "Retrieve the information saved into target VIP's computer."

I looked to the house, still surrounded by ADVENT troopers, and growled, "Are you fucking looney?" into the radio.

"Can you still extract the VIP?" asked Bradford.

"Wait what? No. Fuck no. Poor sod's long gone." I whispered, looking down the road the truck roared down not too long ago.

"Then you get us that info," Bradford said, simply, "This is your first mission, kid, you really don't want to blow it."

I sighed and grumbled, "Acknowledged," into the radio and rasped,"Dick," as I put my radio away, then chuckled a little remembering an all too familiar scenario.

Turning back to the others, I pointed first at Pavle, "You. help Yuriel up to the roof of this house. Yuriel," this time pointing at Yuriel, "Give us sniper cover. Do not fire a single shot until we go loud, otherwise, stay quiet. Anything important you spot, radio it over the low-power. Pavle," back at him now, "Once you're done with her, head to the next house down the road. On my signal, fire off two grenades, one at the truck, the second at the grunts." Then pointing to myself, I clarified, "That means you keep an eye on me for the signal, got it?"

"Yeah, whatever, boss," said Pavle.

"After you're done with that, keep the trigger on that cannon pressed down. If you can't kill anyone, at least keep the lot occupied," I whispered, then I turned back to Yuriel and whispered, "Yuriel, once we go loud, I want you to hit the first high-ranker you see, then keep picking troopers off, got it?"

"Sure thing," said Yuriel.

"Great. You two get to it, then. Nikolas," I turned to him, "you're with me, we're crossing the road."

"You think we won't get caught?" asked Nikolas.

"If we turn these lights on our guns off, probably." I replied, "Come on, you're more invisible than you think. And it's dark. Just keep your head down and try not to do something really, really loud."

* * *

It took a little longer than I thought, but within two minutes, we were pressed up next to the fence door of the target house. Some troopers were inside the house, probably looking for the same computer we were. Part of me wanted to just wait until they found it and then take it from them, but the other part was very doubtful they wanted to take the PC back with them.

No way around it, I looked to the house where Pavle should be. I couldn't see him, but I figured he was probably there. He had to be, after all. Partially covering the flashlight on my gun and pointing it at the house, i flipped it on and off twice.

 _ **Thunk.**_

"Bloody fuck, what is with that?" I growled as I saw they had a little flashing light on the grenade.

 _ **Thunk.**_

The first grenade exploded right underneath the the truck, immediately followed by another detonation from the same truck as the fuel tanks followed suit, launching a massive fireball skywards, lighting up the surrounding area like new year's fireworks.

The crack of Yuriel's rifle was hard to make out from the thunderous boom of the second grenade as it blew out a large part of the wall along with the nearby troopers, but the splatter of viscera from the captain's head followed by the figure crumpling to the ground eliminated any doubts she had fired.

"This is Yuriel," the woman crackled through the radio, "I can see two grunts messing with a notebook computer on the second floor. I think that's our objective."

"Noted," I replied, "pop them before they finish what they're doing," and I heard more rifle fire as acknowledgement.

I planned to count to three before I moved to wait for the enemies to engage Pavle and Yuriel and leave their flanks open to us, but before I counted to two, a couple of troopers burst through the fence door I was standing next to.

The four of us froze for a moment, having been caught completely off guard, but for better or worse, It wasn't the first time something like this happened to me.

Letting go of the pistol grip of my shotgun, my right hand shot up to the handle of the machete sheathed on my back. Wrapping my fingers around the wooden grip a little awkwardly, I drew and swung the metal blade in a single action, aiming at the neck of the trooper closest to me, realising a little late that I swung the machete bluntside-first.

 _Maybe having a double-edged sword isn't such a bad idea_ , I thought in the moment as I lunged forward past the first trooper as it stumbled to the side from the blow and stabbed the next trooper in the mouth, pushing the blade forwards until it met the hard side of the back of its skull.

The burst of rifle fire behind me as Nikolas dispatched the first trooper on the ground as I sheathed the blade all but busted our location, and since stealth was on its way out of the window by now, surprise and good planning were all we were left with, and surprise wore off fast.

" **MOVE! ON ME!** " I yelled and bolted through the fence door, my right hand reunifying with the pistol grip on my shotgun. I swung the weapon up to my shoulder, scanning left, then right, towards Pavle.

I saw a few silhouettes dart around between the burning wreck and me, then stopped as yellow tracers lanced ahead from Pavle's position and showered all around them. I could almost hear the man cackling away as his gatling cannon continuously spat lead forwards.

Running to the corner of the house, Nikolas close behind me, I peeked over the edge to find three troopers standing in cover facing towards Pavle, leaving themselves wide open to me. I lifted my shotgun and fired a shell at the closest enemy, the force of the blast throwing it against its own cover.

The other two immediately moved to find new cover, but were torn apart between Yuriel, Pavle and Nikolas before they reached anywhere useful.

"Pavle, move up closer and cover! Yuriel, keep watch from there! Nikolas, with me!" I barked into my low-power radio before marching into the house through the gaping hole, gun-barrel first, and then I immediately marched back out, mag-bolts in my wake.

"Okay," I whispered to myself, "that's not gonna work." The troopers were too far back for a grenade to reach, and Pavle was out of frags.

Just to cover my options, I asked a quick rhetorical question over the radio, "Yuriel, you got a sightline to those freaks?"

"Not unless I come down from here. And you boys destroy about two walls in my way," came the expected reply.

"Fair enough, keep an eye out for stragglers and reinforcements," I replied, then to the others I said, "You two, keep those guys occupied, I'm going around. Whatever you do, do not get shot."

They both nodded, Pavle then levelling his gatling cannon and firing into the hole in the wall as he walked over to a pile of rubble, then ducking under it past a burst of mag-bolts. Meanwhile, Nikolas flattened himself against the partially shattered wall and only occasionally blind-fired into the house, keeping himself safe like I told him to.

I didn't know how much time I had, not before my plan was found out or before the enemy decided on the same plan I did. Their captain was down, at least, but its always when they're under pressure when your enemies tend to surprise you.

Keeping that in mind, I ran at full sprint to the back of the house, forgetting to check my corners in my haste, and coming around to find a trooper standing in the back door, mag-rifle already leveled and ready. I didn't have time to react much before it fired a three-round burst at me.

The first shot only barely missed, making a pretty nasty looking wound on my right shoulder but otherwise not doing much besides putting me in quite a lot of pain.

The second shot was bang at my center mass, though I was lucky enough for the mag-bolt to hit the shotgun I had on my chest on its way there. My weapon crumbled and splintered in my hands as the mag-bolt punched right through it like it was glass before burrowing into my armor, shrapnel from a shattered shotgun close behind it. It felt like someone swung a battering ram square between my breasts. A red-hot battering ram with a head of spikes, swung by 12 clones of Sun Wukong.

Let's not talk about the red stuff that spilled out of that hole. There was way more than I would have liked, though, if I had to like any amount at all.

The third shot hit me in my lower left torso, fortunately not tearing all my guts out with it, but the bleeding and the pain only makes it slightly not so bad as instant death by disembowelment.

It wasn't the first time I was shot, so I could stop myself from going into shock and panic and passing out instantly at least, but if I had to do an IQ test right then and there, I would have slapped the idiot that put the paper in front of me and demanded a medic, for fuck's sake, not a psychiatrist.

Scrambling for cover, I dived into an empty pool (or maybe it was a jacuzzi, it was pretty shallow) that happened to be there, before gasping "I'm hit, I'm hit," into my radio.

I pressed both my hands on the wound to try and keep from bleeding out too quickly and began waiting. I knew the step-by-step of what was about to happen pretty well, so I wasn't scared not knowing what was gonna happen, just scared knowing exactly what was about to happen.

Right on cue, the numbness was replaced with an intense burning sensation as if my blood turned to magma, as well as the excruciating pain that comes with having a hole in your chest. I bit down hard to try to keep from crying out as well as just crying. At least I wasn't bleeding too profusely to start feeling my toes and fingers go cold.

Before I could start to worry about that, though. A weird floating thing appeared in front of me, it took me a bit to figure out what it was, but the moment of clarity that let me figure that out came when the GREMLIN sprayed magic medical goo on my wounds.

Said clarity also finally let me hear Nikolas telling me to take my damn hands off of my chest so the bot can spray it with the medkit already. I pulled my blood-stained hands off my wound and the bot sprayed a jet of the white goo right into my wound.

"Motherfucker!" I growled under my breath as it felt like I could suddenly feel every millimeter of my wound again and every bit of it was screaming bloody murder.

"Give it a moment," Nikolas said through the radio, "the painkillers should hit you in a bit."

"Hey man," cut in Yuriel, "you better have a Plan B or get us the hell outta here fast, I can see sirens not far away."

"Then kill the fuckers, I'm gonna gut the fucking assface that shot me!" I screamed. Then, knowing that wasn't very useful, took a breath and followed it up with, "Yuriel, shoot the driver of the truck, then you and Pavle pick off any troopers that come out of the vehicle. Nikolas, grab some cover from the reinforcements and stand by. Take any shots you feel like, but don't you get hit like I did."

"You know this is a bad idea," said Nikolas.

"Damn right I do, now get in position," I snapped.

"Yeah, let me just do this one thing first here...there we go!" he said, and before I could ask what the hell he was on about, the bot started hovering just above my head and surrounded me with a faintly shimmering tube of light.

"What the hell is this?" I asked, confused despite myself.

"It's called an Aid Protocol," replied Nikolas, "I think it's a sort of distortion field or whatever, but it basically makes you harder to hit. Go on and kill some troopers, you idiot."

I drew my machete, already starting to stink from hybrid blood, huffed, "My thanks," and vaulted out of the pool back onto the backyard.

I didn't even have time to get back on my feet before I was shot at again. Instead, I started off rolling across the grass as mag-bolts seem to avoid the tube of light completely.

Twisting on one foot, I managed to get up on a knee and hurl my machete at the trooper in a single move. The blade simply bounced off the trooper's armor, but it got distracted enough to allow me to close the gap without being at risk of being shot at point-blank range, grab the weapon off the ground and swung the sharp end across its neck. It was just too bad this Aid Protocol thing didn't help much against spraying blood.

It was at that point when I heard the distant crack of Yuriel's rifle followed by the sound of squealing tires and a heavy armored vehicle crashing through brick walls. Even as I stumbled into the house past the dying trooper, still gurgling as its lungs filled with blood, I could see flashes of light from the front of the house as my team opened fire on the surviving reinforcements.

Inside were three other troopers, distracted by the fighting out front. Not caring to give them a fight, I simply tossed my grenade at the two further ones, then charged down the third and closest trooper as it turned at the sound of stomping boots, jamming my machete into its mouth as the other two turned around to fire at me. I pushed the trooper down behind a kitchen island with me as the grenade exploded, silencing the other two instantly.

Peering over the counter, I made a quick scan of the house. It was fairly small and spartan, and the grenade tore down some walls that would have blocked my view into the living and dining room, which was more or less every other room besides the kitchen I stood in. Unless these things needed to use the bathroom or liked sitting in broom closets, I figured the lower floor was clear of enemies.

Nearly dropping my radio from my fingers slick with blood, I ordered, "Pavle, Nikolas, Find cover in the house. Yuriel, reposition yourself." and, noticing my breath was getting shallow and chilly in my throat, continued, "Let's get this done fast so we can get the hell out of here."

"Sure, boss," "I'm coming in," "Copy that," they sounded off.

"What's the situation outside?" I asked, stumbling over to an old, beat-up sofa in the living room.

"There are a couple of guys still alive enough to shoot back," reported Pavle, "Their captain's dead, which is maybe why they aren't moving much from there. They got real good cover, though, it's hard to get a shot through."

"Keep them pinned," I sighed as I collapsed into the sofa, biting back another cry of pain as I did "Unless Yuriel missed some guys that were hiding upstairs, it should be clear up there, too."

"It's clear enough," chimed in Yuriel, a little out of breath.

"Good," I replied, letting myself sink as much as I could into the old foam cushions, which wasn't a lot.

"Nikolas, get up there, grab what we need from the laptop, and let's get out of here," I said. Then, rubbing my forehead, I added, "and Yuriel, find us a spot where we can call the Skyranger without getting it shot at."

"What are you gonna do?" asked Nikolas.

"Take a nap," I half-joked. Then, more seriously, I said, "I'm sitting down for a bit. I don't feel like running around right now, my gun is broke and all I have is a machete," then I chuckled, saying, "Not much I can do besides sit around telling you guys what to do. Call me when you're done, then give me a hand up."

"Yeah, I'll do that," replied Nikolas as he and Pavle entered the house at last. Pavle continued to lay down fire at the enemies outside while Nikolas ran up the stairs, one step at a time.

"Yuriel, this one's shot in the neck, it's not quite dead yet," he then radioed.

"I said 'clear enough'," she snapped, "Don't tell me a half-dead trooper is too much for you?"

"A half-dead Ryder was too much for these guys," panted Pavle as a burst of rifle fire upstairs finished off the trooper upstairs, "If any of us had a problems with these guys, we are in a world of trouble."

"Shut the fuck up, Pavle," I groaned, "Nikolas, how long are you gonna take?"

"A little while if we're getting the good stuff," replied Nikolas, his voice low, "and whoooey. This machine is practically dripping with tasty, tasty information, no wonder ADVENT came knocking so quickly."

"Really?" asked Pavle before I could say anything, "What kind of info are we talking? Browsing history of some mid-rank ADVENT drone?"

"If only," said Nikolas, rather clearly in awe, "Even if it's just the unencrypted stuff, we're talking secret operations that would make even the hardest ADVENT supporter shut up for a bit...if we ever break this guy out of jail, I wanna talk to him about how he got these."

"You'll get your chance," cut in Yuriel, "I found us an evac point. I'm guessing I have to keep it clear until you boys get here."

"You do that," I replied as Nikolas approached me, still looking over the data he pulled on a little tablet computer.

"This is some serious shit, man," he was saying, "next to convincing every living human on Earth to rebel in a single afternoon, this is going to be a seriously big break in a really long time."

"Great," I sighed, the action a little too tiring to mean well, "you help me up and let me decide what I'm gonna sell it to XCOM for,"

"What?" asked Nikolas, looking up with a surprised look on his face.

"What?" I asked in return, "Are you telling me you don't want something extra out of this? Come on, help me up here, it's getting cold."

"What can we get from them that won't make us look like dicks?" asked Nikolas as I put my right arm around him and he pulled me up, sending another jolt of pain through my body, "Bloody hell, what do they have that they aren't already giving us?"

"Fucking aaagh," I gritted through my teeth as I gently probed my half-coagulated wound, "You let me figure that out, I'll think of something that'll make tonight worth it."

"And not make us look like dicks?" pushed Nikolas.

"And not make us look like dicks," I echoed.

"If you're expecting to leave soon, I'm sorry to tell you this, but there's at least two guys still alive down there, boss," yelled Pavle from the front of the house.

"And the reason they are not dead is why again?" I yelled back, the act leaving me out of breath.

"They got good cover is why!" he yelled back.

I sighed, clumsily fiddled with my radio, and ordered, "Yuriel! Deal with the remaining grunts!"

"And the evac point?" she asked.

"It'll be clear enough!" I replied.

"Aye-aye," she replied and cut off.

"Well, time to get going," said Nikolas at the first cracks of rifle fire, "come on, now, start walking."

I chuckled, my breath now ice cold in my throat, "Nah," I huffed while I shook my head, "That's your job," and finally passed out.

* * *

"What do you mean he's late?" I demanded angrily, "He's never late! Are you sure you didn't mess up the meeting point?"

"Yes, Lynn," came the irritated reply, "We are sure. Maybe your man was caught in one of the battles going on nearby?"

"Skirmishes," I corrected, "and the nearest one is at the temple, which is way off the path anyway."

"Well, maybe your man betrayed you and ran off with the merchandise?" he next suggested.

"Now you listen here," I warned, my voice ice cold, "you question his loyalty once again and I will personally tear off your feet and feed them to you, are we clear?"

The man sighed and said, "Be that as it may, but your man still hasn't arrived."

Which was a truth that sadly I had no say over. "He'll be there, hang tight," was all I could manage.

"Right," said the man, and he hung up.

Once again I tried to call him, and the call immediately went off-signal. In a fit of frustration and rage, I threw the phone at the window. It crashed through the glass and tumbled to the blasted streets below. It was a burner phone anyway, and I had plenty more on hand.

Staring out at the hole in the glass, I saw the temple I mentioned, columns of smoke billowing out of the many fires that now lit it up like so much burning Joss paper, and noticed a small aircraft lift into the air vertically before jetting off into the distance, the sound hitting me a few seconds after.

"Goddammit, Shaojie," I mumbled, "Where the hell are you…?"

Deciding I couldn't wait any longer, and with no subordinates willing to stray too close to any alien combat zones, I decided to go out and find him myself. Grabbing my rifle and machete, I set off into the scorched city.


	4. The Eye of the Storm

**Spent quite some more time trying to stretch it out as it was a little short, but couldn't think of anything to write for a while that might seem unnatural or shoehorn-y. Around now I feel the quality of my stuff is starting to tank quite a bit. They're still pretty enjoyable to write, and I have some fun stuff planned for the next chapter, so hopefully the issue will be gone by then.**

 **Also there was like quite a few days of holidays I spent playing videogames on my new PC that I bought about two weeks ago. Upgrading from a mid-tier laptop to a high-end desktop is quite the power-up, I tell you, so I was a little occupied XP**

* * *

 **XCOM: Splinter**

Chapter 4

~ The Eye of the Storm ~

I woke up a little before we landed, feeling something jabbed and taped to the inside of my elbow. I wondered idly for a while if it had a proper name and if it wasn't way too complicated to call a simple part of the body. I then felt my insides float for the short duration when the Skyranger's engines cut back to let it fall and touch down on the landing deck.

As I slowly woke up proper, I began to worry. If I passed out despite my wound being covered up by magic medical goo, that meant that I was probably bleeding internally. It could also just mean that I simply exhausted myself after losing a lot of blood, but keeping a positive mind never saved lives - at least not as far as I was concerned.

"Ryder, you asshole," grumbled Nikolas as I became conscious enough to try sitting up, only to find that my energy hadn't quite returned yet and sink back down with a groan, "If you're awake now then you're walking on your own damn feet."

I rubbed my eyes and opened them, finding myself lying between the seats on the floor of the Skyranger's troop compartment. The others had even removed their vests to make for cushions for me, too. An unexpected gesture, but a welcome one. My wounds have been properly bandaged, not too much blood was showing on the wrapping cloth, and I found a drip bag of blood connected to my elbow. This, Nikolas bent over and helped me remove, as the bag was basically empty at this point and it was time to get proper treatment in the triage center.

As Pavle and Nikolas pulled me to my feet, I got a rush of of dizziness and blurred vision as I drunkenly stumbled out of the Skyranger with the others, collapsing to my knee in front of Bradford, who had come out to meet us like the first time we arrived.

"Congratulations on your first successful mission," he started off, an irritatingly cheery smile on his face, "not like the stuff you're used to, huh?"

I glared at him as much as I could with eyes that seem to do their damndest to stay unfocused and snarled, "Yeah, usually when the mission is a bust we get the hell out, not push harder."

"Oh come on," said Bradford, "it wasn't that bad, at least by our standards. A single injury that doesn't kill is pretty damn good around here."

 _Oh yeah, that'll make me feel better about being shot_ , I thought angrily.

"Besides, you got the data, right?" he asked, reaching out a hand towards us.

"Yeah, sure we do," said Nikolas, pulling his tablet from it's holder on his belt. I grabbed his hand before he can lift it all the way up towards him.

"Not so fast," I growled, "you owe us some stuff for this after what I went through."

"Oh come on," whined Nikolas, "you can't actually be serious."

Bradford folded his arms, a hard look on his face. "Go on, then," he said.

I slowly stood up, blinking away the blurriness, and held out a finger.

"One," I said, "I want more vegetables. You only have meat and the odd leaf of cabbage or lettuce. We need more, hell, the resistance at large needs more."

Bradford's forehead furrowed, and a look of slight confusion started to creep over his face, but with nothing much to say in retort, he replied, "I'll...pass that along. You know our food comes- "

"Yes, yes, I know you get the stuff from the resistance." I waved away, "Having livestock or growing plants to eat is kinda illegal right now, so most resistance people have been hunting for their food. We've been hired for hunting trips before."

"Still need those fibers and vitamins," chimes in Yuriel, "literally the one thing we don't need to fight right now is scurvy, a goddamn 17th century pirate malnutrition disease."

"Right," said Bradford, nodding, this time with no hesitation, "I'll pass it along."

"Two," I continued as I pulled out my machete, "This single-edged thing nearly messed things up for me, could you get some double-edged blades in here?"

Bradford shrugged and said, "Afraid not. We can't exactly grab every machete we have on hand and grind down the back to an edge. We could try, but the result really wouldn't be worth it."

Then he waved his hand in a 'whatever, I don't really understand' gesture and said, "Swordsmithing, all that stuff."

"We have swordsmiths on hand?" asked Nikolas, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"The resistance does," replied Bradford, "It's a cheap way to make fairly effective weapons that don't expend material as bullets."

"So," I said, bringing the topic back to my request, "no double-edges?"

"If we develop the tech to make our own melee weapons," suggested Bradford, "and if that happens, they would also be better at their jobs than simple tempered steel - I'll make a note to have double-edged blades over single-edged."

"Third," this time Bradford didn't try to ask for the data before I spoke up, "What the fuck is Splinter One through Four?"

"They're your callsigns," said Bradford, an eyebrow cocked in confusion, "We use them around here."

"I fucking know what callsigns are," I snapped, "I'm saying ours are shit and that I want to change them." I then pointed at the rest and said, "I will NOT call any of these guys Splinter Anything. It feels like I'm legitimizing the lot."

Bradford snorted a little and said, "What the hell, sure, have it your way."

I nodded and sheathed my machete, "Great, that'll be all. Nikolas, give him the tablet and now let's get me patched up proper. Shit hurts even more from speaking."

* * *

I was bedridden for three whole months to recover from my gunshot wound. The mag-bolt didn't do too much damage to me, having lost a lot of energy by punching through first my shotgun, then my armored vest.

The wound was mostly a lot of bleeding and broken bones and meat. According to Tygan, though, some bone fragments and shrapnel got uncomfortable close to my lungs. Still and all, three months was blistering fast. I remembered when a flesh wound from bullet fragments took that long to heal if not more.

Three months was a long time to spend lying in a bed either way, and since I was the only guy on the ship that was wounded at the time, I was also alone in the triage center.

After two days of utter silence outside of the odd checkup and the constant steady beeping of the medical equipment around me, I almost started to miss Pavle and his ramblings. Before the thought could really sink in though, I was saved be someone I really didn't expect.

It was the guy who gave me that bland-as-hell cigarette the day XCOM came a half hour too late. I hadn't spoken to him at all since then, I didn't even know his name. Whatever his name was, he was the only other Grenadier on the base. He was a pretty big fellow even next to Pavle, wore an eyepatch over one eye, had full tattoos down both his thick arms and had fairly long black hair tied up in a ponytail.

At first glance he looked like a gangster like myself, so when this man just walked into the triage center with something I couldn't make out under his arm and headed straight for me, old instincts kicked in and I prepared to defend against the first blow and planned my counterattack.

So it somewhat surprised me when it turns out the stuff he brought with him were some books and I nearly swung out on instinct and punched him in his gut. Instead, I just kinda flinched in a weird way.

For a few seconds, I locked eyes with him as he stared back at me after putting the books down on the bedside table, then he simply pointed at them and said, "Books."

I stared at him a moment longer, then slowly, I responded, "I...can tell..." my eyes darted back down to the three books he brought as if expecting to suddenly find something else, then returned my gaze at the man and said, "...why exactly?"

The man cocked his head to the side slightly and said, "Last time I was here I was bored out of my mind. Thought you might be, too."

I thought for a moment, but ultimately couldn't think of anything to say back except for, "Uh, okay, thanks. I was bored."

The man nodded, and started to turn to leave.

"What's your name?" I ventured.

He stopped and turned back at me, "My name is William Martins. You can call me William."

 _Not the most talkative fellow are ya?_ "Mine's Ryder Lynn. Ryder will do."

He nodded again, said, "of course," and left.

I sat there for a moment wondering what was that all about. He seemed like a nice enough guy, having brought me some reading material, but not all too social. He kinda reminds me of someone I knew, the way he means well but has problems communicating it.

I thought for a moment trying to figure out who William reminded me of, but came up blank, so instead I grabbed the first book off the top of the stack and started reading.

* * *

After that encounter, the stay in the triage center was fairly uneventful. I finished the books William brought me within 2 weeks, and started to read them over again for another week before William brought another batch of books, expressing slight surprise I finished them in the time I did. This second batch lasted me another couple of weeks before I managed to argue that I was healed enough to start walking again.

Besides the obvious reason which was that I needed to keep in shape for my current line of work, being stuck in bed for nearly two months was driving me stir crazy. I had been bedridden with injuries before, but usually I at least had a window where natural light could shine in nearby.

After clumsily squeezing myself into the weird garb that passed for casual wear on the ship, I set out to explore the base proper. It's not as if I could get lost, I knew the ways around the ship already, just that I wanted to spend more time looking the place over.

Too bad there wasn't much to look at. Every room in the lower deck held only ruin, either from whatever shot this craft down all those years ago or deliberately destroyed by the aliens when they left it.

Mildly disappointed, I headed up to the crew quarters with William's books to return them to him. The man wasn't there, so I simply left the books on his bunk, and took a moment to look over at my own bunk - on the top bunk.

I chuckled a little at the memory of a fight over the beds with Yuriel back at boot camp, then shivered at another memory of something that would happen later regarding them, also realizing that the nickname she gained that day would probably be the one that went as her callsign in future.

Deciding to head down to the bar/mess hall, I cut through the command room, nodding at some people I barely remembered yet as I passed through, though most were too busy with whatever they were up to to even notice me.

Going down the stairs to the barroom, I passed by the armory, and wondered briefly if I would be getting a replacement shotgun. Even if I didn't, I could settle for a rifle. I simply preferred the raw punch of the shotgun, its range limitation be damned.

As I walked into the room, a small cheer erupted from the other fighters in the room. A quick scan of the room told me William wasn't here, either.

"Hey Ryder!" yelled Pavle from the back of the room, a big mug in one hand spilling some drink as he stood up, "Mind getting yourself killed properly next time?!"

"I'll consider it once I finally snap and gut you." I replied, trying not to make it too obvious I was glad to hear his bullshit again. "And why the hell is Bradford mixing drinks?"

Because he was. The acting commander of an apparent crack resistance cell made specifically to combat aliens was standing behind the bar counter, mixing drinks and looking as if all was well in the world.

"I don't shittin' know," replied Pavle, downing another gulp of his mug's contents, "I think he's the only guy onboard that kinda knows how to mix things other than Jagerbombs. Or whatever passes for Jagerbombs these days. This stuff's pretty okay," and he waved his mug at me, fortunately without enough liquid to spill out at me, "you should try it. Tastes like actual booze."

I looked at the bar again, spotting an opened bottle of fancy brew and said, "Probably because he added actual booze to the mix."

"Really?" asked Pavle jokingly. He took another swig, then looked up at me and his face fell, "Holy shit I've been drinking actual booze and didn't notice?"

Seeing the rare crestfallen expression plastered on Pavle's face cracked me up, as it was rare seeing him be lost for words. Leaving him as he looked like he was in the middle of an existential crisis, I walked over to the bar.

"What the fuck are you doing over there, Bradford?" I demanded as I took a seat on a bar stool next to two other people, "Don't you have more important stuff to do besides mix drinks for the grunts?"

"Yeah, but this is a bit of a special occasion," said Bradford in an oddly cheery tone as he dumped the contents of the mixer into a beer mug, "Here, for you."

I stared at him for a moment hoping for an explanation, but Bradford didn't respond. Figuringing he couldn't be so dense as to not miss my obviously questioning look, I sighed and took a swig of the mug, "Huh. This isn't half bad."

Now Bradford looked up and smiled. He then lifted the fancy brew on the counter and pointed at it, "Bottled in 1957. This thing is older than some countries. If they were still around," shaking his head, he placed it back on the counter and then said, "That'll be the only drink you get, though. My grandpap would say different, but alcohol doesn't help that hole in your chest any better than another bullet would."

Now I leaned forward and asked, "So why am I drinking this now exactly? What's the occasion?"

Bradford sighed loudly, though he didn't look as dejected as I thought he would be.

"The data you brought back from your last mission," he started, "Most of it is still encrypted or written in code, but if we're reading what we have cracked so far right, they could be a lot of things we have been working towards for a while," he started another mix now, "what those things are I obviously can't tell you, at least not yet. Just know they're big enough that I'm breaking open one of my prize bottles over here."

I looked back into the murky liquid in my mug, my vague reflection on the bubbly surface. Briefly I remembered a story about how death row convicts were served a final meal of their choice before they were executed. Tossing the mug back, emptying it in a single gulp, I determined once again to see this war through the very end. If for nothing else, to find a drink that tasted better than this one.

"Aaagh...tastes like...apple juice, rubbing alcohol and root beer." I joked, suppressing a cough.

"Well suck it up, Inky Jr., it's the best shit you're gonna chug without dyin' nowadays," came a woman's voice next to me.

I turned to find two of the other fighters I remembered from the post-ADVENT raid. They were two women, one was a Caucasian in her early twenties with half-framed glasses, had her dreadlocks tied back and an acid look in her eyes; the other was an Asian around her late forties with round glasses, with had her hair tied up in a bun with a pair of knitting needles used as hairpins. Her gaze was gentler, but also colder. Like a hunter examining a target to plan her attack. Kinda like Yuriel, actually.

"Who the hell is Inky Jr.?" I asked the two.

"You, with the tats," said the Cauc.

"And I guess that makes William 'Inky Sr.'?" I asked her.

Her forehead furrowed, "I guess? Will's that bookeeper guy, right?"

"Melissa has only been with us for a few months, and she seems to have trouble remembering people's names," cut in the Asian, "nicknames are easier, though, so she's been assigning nicknames to everyone on the Avenger until she remembers our names."

"To answer your last question, yes, William is the big man that owned a bookstore before the invasion," I replied to Melissa, "You know who you were talking to at least?"

"Uhhh…" she turned to look at the Asian, "Holly, right?"

"Hori," said the Asian, "but you're getting closer."

"Yes, well, pleasant meeting you two," I said as I tossed back the little bit of liquid that gathered at the bottom of the mug, "Now if you ladies would excuse me, I'll be touring the place a bit more and then maybe go back to the triage center."

* * *

"You sure a pistol is all you need?" I asked, still quite worried.

"Yes, I am sure," he said confidently, and sighed, "Look, boss. I'm not going to go out of my way to shoot some aliens. I'll just head straight to the rendezvous point and deliver your merchandise."

"You sure you don't want to get like an automatic pistol or- "

"Ryder!" he interrupted, speaking my name in the rare times he really wanted to get something through, "It's fine. Really. Now if we continue arguing like this any longer I might be late to the meeting point."

"You're not even wearing any body armor!" I protested, by now pretty much knowing it was futile.

"As if it would hold up against the weapons being used by the creatures crawling around outside," he said, cuffing the suitcase to his hand. "I'll keep the merchandise safe, so you can stop worrying about it."

"I'm not worried about the merch, Zhang." I said.

Now, Zhang turned and looked at me. He held my gaze for a few seconds and then chuckled, "As I said, I'm not going out to pick fights. I'll avoid any aliens I come across and focus on the delivery. I promise."

I sighed deeply, and finally responded, "Fine. Look. Just do the delivery and get yourself back here. Then let's get a drink. It's been a while since we drank together."

"Of course, boss," Zhang replied, doing his final checks to make sure he had everything on him.

"Well, then, you better hustle. You remember the meeting point. Good luck out there." I said, and bade Zhang farewell. The sight of his back as he left the base was the last I saw of the man.


End file.
